


Marked by two

by mee4ever



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Bottom Draco, Fingerfucking, Fucking, Future Fic, Happy Ending, M/M, Marks, POV Draco Malfoy, Panic Attacks, Pining Draco, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Redeemed Draco, Scars, Self-Harm, Top Harry, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 02:08:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5272574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mee4ever/pseuds/mee4ever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Malfoy.” Potter said eventually.<br/>“Potter.” He turned to see that Potter was still there. So he figured this was one of those “one time opportunities” and decided to take it.<br/>“Thank you,” he said, refusing to let his gaze falter.<br/>“Malfoy Manor,” he continued and before the green flames could capture him and drag his body home, he could see Potter’s eyes widen in surprise and then, he was gone. </p><p>Or the one where it's a year after the war ended and Draco is coping the best he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marked by two

**Author's Note:**

> Wonderful [Lovi](http://evilqueenofslytherin.tumblr.com/) sent me following prompt:  
> "I WANT A YEAR AFTER THE WAR AND DRACO AND HARRY HAVEN'T SEEN OR SPOKEN TO ONE ANOTHER AND THEN THEY MEET SOMEHOW AND STUFF HAPPENS! I'll love you extra much if I get something kinky! AND Draco is a bit of a slut hehehe and cocky as fuck and knows he's hot and that people want him. Even more cred if Blaise and him are fuck buddies but it dosn't like have to be anything between them in it just yeah you get it. AND remember Draco is a total bottom so don't make him too bossy if you write anything kinky at all."  
> And this is what I came up with! 
> 
> There are mentioning of self-harm by using rough sex partners. 
> 
> I highly appreciate feedback and you are also more than welcome to point out spelling or grammatical errors since English isn't my first language.

It was a year after the war had ended and four months since Draco’s verdict. He was found not guilty, on all charges. No less then seven people from school or the Ministry, from Dumbledore’s Army and The Order nonetheless, had testified in his defense. He hadn’t been allowed to be there, at the hearings, but he knew that both Granger and Potter had been taking the stand for him, protecting him despite everything he’d done. He didn’t know who else had fought for him, but didn’t think he even wanted to know. He felt guilty enough that he walked free, he didn’t want to know who’d helped him get there. Didn’t want to be in more debt than he already was. He and his parents had been in hiding for the first months. His dad a wreck of the man he’d once been and his mother stronger than ever. Some men are lost in fire, they say. Some women are built from it, Draco understood. He was ruled a minor. Couldn’t be expected to be held responsible for most of his actions, seeing the family he was brought up in, seeing his dad constantly went back the the Dark Lord and held his son close at bay. He was painted in the papers as “The Boy Who Had No Choice” but Draco himself knew better. He’d had a choice alright. He’d made the wrong one. Over and over and over and over…

They hadn’t so much come out from hiding, rather than being forced out. His dad faced trail first. Was sent to Azkaban as a traitor and he was due back sometime in the next five years, no exact date set yet. Draco didn’t dare think about what the shell of his father would look like. His mother was found guilty of treason, but was only sent to house arrest and proper fines. The word of The Boy Who Lived stood against many and in the end, Potter’s words saved his mother. He didn’t understand what she’d done to earn it, but then again, he didn’t know what he’d done to earn it either.

Draco had been a mess. Still was, to be honest. He’d tried every spell he could find to remove the Dark Mark and instead of getting rid of it, he found himself crying on the floor more times than not. He’d even tried muggle ways, there was a thing called “laser” that supposedly got rid of inked skin, but it didn’t work on him. It only hurt like a thousand needles and cost a fortune. He had tried smearing beige creams over it and it hadn’t even faded. He never wore shirts without sleeves.

He found that being practically as known as Potter himself, was not what he’d expected. There was always people who knew his name, wherever he went in the wizarding world. The majority sided with the papers, he was still just a boy, just like Potter. Once, an old lady had spat him in the face and told him he should be rotting in Azkaban with his father. He’d had a panic attack in the bathroom of the nearest shop. The war had put scars on him, not only visible (where there were way too many) but his brain had decided that sometimes there was just a little too much. Whenever people acted hostile towards him on the street, he’d turn the other way and leave as fast as he could. He could only imagined how bad it would’ve been if the tabloids hadn’t seen him as the wounded animal they apparently had chosen to picture him as. So he thought that most people hated him on a silent level. They didn’t say it to his face but he felt like everyone was whispering about it, like there was a hidden page in The Prophet that you needed to unlock with a spell he didn’t know. It was ridiculous, but he couldn’t help but think it. That’s why he got shocked the first time somebody had hit on him after his fate had been decided. It’d been a brunette girl in a pub, when he’d just wanted to drown himself in booze and not think about what to do next. She’d been pretty. He’d ignored her till she’d walked away.

There were a lot of rumors about him. About what he did everyday. He could get a job, no one could deny him after he was found not guilty, but he didn’t think he’d be able to ever hold one. So people gossiped. Did he do this or did he do that, did he see those people, was he in contact with Potter, was he in contact with his father. He wasn’t, with neither. Didin’t even think he could be in contact with his father if he wanted to. He didn’t even see any of his friends from school. Except for Blaise, but that was not in a friendly way. It was more of the “fuck and leave again”-situation going on there. Had been going on for months. Years. He’d pick up other guys who wanted _The Draco Malfoy_ -experience but he never wanted to either lay with them again nor even hear their names. Despite being mentally ill and a poster child for bad decisions, people seemed to find him attractive. They thought he was mysterious and dangerous and misunderstood and he wanted to throw up whenever anyone tried pick him up by telling him something along those lines. He fucked his way through misery and it only made him distracted. Never peaceful. Never rested.

Someone let slip to the press that he was gay only a month ago. He saw his own face on the front of magazines for a week, before they got better things to write about. It didn’t bother him. He’d been experiencing too much in his life to be afraid of sex. The whole thing didn’t seem to bother many people at all, in reality, no one had ever said a word to him about it after the first publication, not even the people who hated his guts. Fewer girls tried to get him into bed though.

St. Mungo's offered him counseling. Therapy. Someone to talk to, whatever. He declined at first but went back after panicking on his way downstairs because he’d heard his mother scream and it’d only been because she’d burned herself on a candle. He’d been sitting, whimpering and gasping for air for half an hour, even when his mother had been with him through it all. He sat opposite his therapist for over an hour, not saying a word, as she didn’t say a word either. He’d done so four times before he’d even dared to ask what she wanted him to talk about. She’d said _anything you want_. It hadn’t helped much, but he’d started telling her about the peacocks they had on the Manor. Told her that he didn’t like them. It had started there and last time, it had ended in him confessing to holding a knife to his Mark every now and then. Waiting, wishing, weighing. He didn’t know why he told her everything but it made him feel somewhat lighter to do so.

Luna Lovegood approached him on the street on a September morning. They’d never said a word to each other that he could recall; he’d always found her too odd to pay much attention to. When she stopped in front of him, he stopped as well and they had a stare down that could compete with the ones he’d had with Potter at Hogwarts.

“Do you want a hug?” she’d asked. “I want to hug you.” Draco had been standing there, in the middle of a lesser crowded street in Diagon Ally, mouth agape and not able to make his brain process the words. In the end, he’d just nodded his head and Luna had put her arms around him, pressing in close but not uncomfortably so and he’d just taken the hug without returning it. She held on for maybe thirty seconds and then stepped back again.

“Thank you,” he said without thinking and she swayed a little and nodded her head, blonde hair falling across her face. He blushed, even though he tried not to and looked down the pavement. Her testimony definitely one of the seven. He had a lot to thank her for and he never thought he’d get another chance.

“Everything will be good in the end,” she said and wandered off. It left him with a strange feeling in his gut. He made a gesture not to look at the picture of the two of them on the cover of The Prophet the day after. It had been a way too intimate moment. He laughed at that, because who would’ve thought him and Looney Luna would ever have something intimate?

The war hadn’t left the world in ruins. It hadn’t been that kind of war. There was a few shops that had been needing a make over, the castle at Hogwarts needed some new decor and there were a couple of other land marks that bore signs of evil magic but the psychological affects was visible everywhere. People was more scared after everything was settled than after the first war. Draco didn’t know since he’d been little but he’d read enough to understand that there had been spells being thrown around and caught by muggles who’d thought it’d been fire works and there’d been such an uprise in owl post that zoologists had been standing dumb found. It didn’t happen this time. People stayed in, didn’t go out after dark, didn’t let their kids run on the streets. It was still like the war was going strong. The curfews had been dropped but not many people would have been affected if they had decided to keep them. Most of the core group of the Death Eaters had been gathered and sent to Azkaban but it wasn't much conciliation in the end.

Draco found himself dreaming of Potter from time to time. How he would save his life in every possible way. Draco didn't really mind and wasn't at all surprised. There was just so much unresolved… things, between them. They had never been friends. Potter had made sure of that from the very beginning when he refused to shake Draco’s hand. Made it clear. He didn’t know at the time that it would be a start of a several years long feud between them. One that Draco kept going because he didn’t know how else to express any of the feelings that surfaced throughout their school years. Because he hadn’t understood what type of feelings he had. And when he finally did, it’d been years too late and way to many mistakes later. There were fights they would never talk about, like the one in the bathroom when Potter had made the scars that now shone on Draco’s chest whenever he took his shirt of, bright white in contrast to his Mark. He thought he deserved them. Wore them with some sort of weird proudness and made all of his partners kiss them. It was a reminder that Potter had made an imprint on him, that he was marked by The Boy Who Lived as well as the man who’d killed him.

Speaking of Potter. Draco was on his way from the Ministry when he saw him for the first time in over a year. He'd been called in for an unscheduled meeting with a woman whom had grilled him for an hour about where he'd been on September eleventh. He'd been fucking a brown skinned boy with dull eyes in an abandon house, God knows where. He refused telling her at first, said it was invasive to his privacy. He told her he'd been with a friend, after forty-five minutes. When she asked the name of said friend, he'd given her a raised eyebrow.

“Not the type of friend I know the name of,” he'd said calmly and she'd flustered and made him answer a couple more questions on recent activity. He felt like a criminal. He was but felt a little sting ever time they made him come there. It was like the dropped charges didn't matter, somehow he was still on the shit-list, potential threat, possible relapser. He was waiting in front of a fire place when Potter came swooshing down the exact same one. He dusted his muggle clothes off before he looked up to see (and then stare at) Draco. Potter’s brown skin was colored even darker by soot in his chin and he's locks were longer and more messy than Draco had ever seen them. He wanted to tangle his fingers through them.

“Malfoy,” Potter said eventually.

“Potter.” Draco answered while Potter stepped out of the fireplace and then Draco stepped in. He turned to see that Potter was still there. So he figured this was one of those “one time opportunities” and decided to take it.

“Thank you,” he said, refusing to let his gaze falter. “Malfoy Manor,” he continued and before the green flames could capture him and drag his body home, he could see Potter’s eyes widen in surprise and then, then he was gone.

The color of the flames of Floo Powder was not the same shade as the Killing Curse but it reminded Draco too much of it to not bother him. He made an effort not to use it whenever it wasn’t required, but he'd never been one for apparating either so there was just so much he could avoid it. He knew he was being scared of nothing. He also knew that if you practiced apparating enough, you could come and go with almost silent “plops”. When Potter scrambled down in his front yard an hour later, the sound was almost deafening from inside the house. He watched through a window of the second floor as the boy staggered forward after landing in a step, like he'd been walking and just so happen to pull himself into Draco’s lawn. With his heart beat booming in his ears, he met Potter at the front door, opening it just as Potter raised a hand to knock.

“Potter.”

“Malfoy.”

He was thinking about changing it. The idea had hit him sometime after his dad was shipped off to rot in the middle of the ocean. “Malfoy” stood for things he didn't want to be any part of. At the same time, it was his name, his identify and the only thing that kept him safe and sane when he had manic periods. There was always the question of what he should change it to. Another family name? Most of them were associated with the same kind of crap his original name did and what else were there? Calling himself Black and dishonor two war heroes at once? He never found another name. He'd always be Draco Malfoy. Whatever he called himself.

“What are you doing here?” Draco snarled. His mother might have made him promise to be at least civil with everyone from the Order but it was hard when Potter just stirred things in his gut and his brain and, fuck, his cock.

“Always fun to see your ugly face, are you going to let me in?” Potter sounded more sure than he looked. His appearance was… unsettling. He was dressed in jeans and a too large button up in a dark teal color. It made his body appear smaller then he was. Despite that, it was hard believing he was still only a teenager.

“Are you alone?” Potter asked and Draco just nodded his response and let the door swing fully opened. He lead the boy into a living room, furnished with a sofa group, an open fire place and a Persian rug. He waved a hand lazily to a couch and sat in the one opposite that one and then sent a silent incendio-spell over his shoulder. It made flames start licking the wood in the fireplace. Potter paused a second, considering, before flopping himself down. Next to Draco.

Somehow Potter engaged him in conversation. Draco wasn’t sure what it was about, everything and nothing really and he probably said too little for it to actually be called a dialog but Potter kept going. At one point Potter talked about leaving the past in the past. He would scoot a bit closer when he talked about something he was really engrossed in and Draco would keep himself from backing away. Maybe if he just sat where he sat, Potter would realize what he was doing, realize that he was literally in Draco’s personal space and move away. It didn’t happen. Potter was close, too close for Draco’s taste, unless Potter was going to kiss him. Draco wished he would. Draco wished he wouldn’t.

“If you’re going to talk about shagging a Weasley, I will literally throw up.” The sentence had only started with _one time when me and Ginnny_ but Draco took no chances.

“I didn’t… I never… I never slept with any Weasley’s, don’t worry.” Draco couldn’t help but stare disbelieving at the boy beside of him.

“You didn’t screw the Weasley girl? Are you stupid or something?” Potter laughed right out at that. He seemed to think it was so funny, he couln’t ask whatever he tried to say when he opened his mouth, he just started to laugh again. Draco looked at him with slight distaste. Wondered how he could be attracted to that maniac.

“Was that you, actually complimenting my ex?” Potter asked when he’d finally gotten his attack under control, smiling smugly and Draco rolled his eyes. Anyone could see that the Weasley girl had grown up pretty.

“I simply saw her thirst for you for years, have to wonder why she didn’t take what she could, when she could. Who wouldn't want a piece of _The Boy Who Lived_?” He made his tone high pitched, almost Rita Skeeter-y and bobbed his eyebrows but it sounded almost suggestive anyway.

“So this is really you confessing your undying love and attraction for _me_?” Potter asked, smirking like a mother fucker and Draco didn’t want to, but he felt himself hesitate. He was sure his ears redden.

“Shut up, Potter”.

The dark haired boy only looked at him slightly confused for a while before speaking again. "What are you-”

“Don't over think things,” Draco snarled and shook his head, kept the _you're good at that_ to himself. Potter’s expression only deepened in confusion.

“Malfoy,” he started slowly. Draco really couldn’t take it. It sounded like _pity_. He flinched when Potter’s fingers brushed his own, took his hand away and stared the other boy down. Potter’s gaze didn't crumble, didn't break. When Potter reached out for his hand again, brushing his thumb over Draco’s knuckles, Draco let his hand be still. Pity might not have been the right word. Recognition might’ve been more appropriate. Maybe even understanding.

Potter leaned in and kissed Draco’s lips then. Draco let him. He would let Potter do anything to him, he owed the boy that much. He also wanted to give him that much, give him _everything_. And Potter kept kissing.

Blaise had been his first kiss. First everything. They'd been fifteen and it’d been just as desperate and scared as the sex that followed. It had been too fast, too hard and too much. Draco had already then felt the beginnings of destructive behavior but hadn't understood why he'd had liked the encounter. It really hadn’t been a pleasurable experience. They had done it facing each other, kissing through it. Draco had tried scratching, tried caressing and didn't feel comfortable with any of it. It had only felt right for a short moment. He'd pushed the dark boy’s hair from his forehead and found himself expecting a lightning bolt scar. He always wanted to be fucked from behind after that.

The thin, white button up he'd worn was suddenly gone. Draco had somehow been undressed by his… first crush? First love? By the only person that ever made him feel the butterflies people talked about? And he hadn't noticed. He wondered how fucked up he really was.

“You are gorgeous,” Potter said on an exhale but the words sounded so fake coming from him. He was one of the few who mattered when they'd say something like that and he never had before, never said one positive thing really. It made Malfoy pull away and stand up.

“Oh, Malfoy, common,” Potter said and wrapped his right hand over Draco’s arm, concealing the Mark with his palm in a deliberate motion but made it look like he'd forgotten it was there. Draco stilled and gulped audibly. No touch could trigger the Mark any longer but it still buzzed a little and he knew it had started to move underneath Potter’s hand. He didn't move to get free of the grip though. Potter joined him standing, chest almost touching Draco’s and rubbed soothing circles with his thumb.

“What do you want?” Potter asked and the question was raw and honest, like there wasn't anything he wanted more than to know what _Draco_ wanted. He didn't know how to respond. His usual _I want you to fuck me_ didn't seem appropriate and he doubted he even could form those words in Harry Potter’s presence. So he didn't answer. Just kissed him again, more forcefully, tried to get a forceful response. The only thing he got was pleasurable sighs and small moans, no bruising lips, no clawing fingers. Draco felt out of his element. There was a hand on his cheek then, warm against his skin and it didn’t make an effort in moving his head. It took him quite a long time to realize that Potter cupped his face just for the sake of it. It took a seriously long time before Potter nibbled at his lower lip a couple of times and Draco got impatient when the pressure barley could be felt.

“For Merlin's sake, just bite it already.” It wasn't supposed to have sounded so desperate, so demanding. Potter looked him in the eye, Draco glared back.

“I don't want to hurt you?” There was a question in the statement, like Draco didn't understand that Potter wasn't there for pain. Draco wanted him to be.

“I want you to.” The words earned him a squint. Potter shook his head and stepped away from him, leaned against the armrest of the couch instead. Draco wanted to crowd him immediately after.

He readjusted his glasses as he told Draco, “You might think you're a terribly good liar, but I've watched you enough to know most of your tells.” Draco cursed under his breath.

Draco knew sex. It was useful to him, it was something he did because there was elements to it that could punish him. He could sit alone with his head and condemn himself to hell for all eternity, but he had never had the stomach to self harm. He couldn't do it. Didn't know how to. The Mark was the only thing that would sometimes make him really want to. So he took help from others. Said he was into rough stuff, said he wanted them to take it all out because he'd feel better, wanted pain so that he could feel pleasure. No one caught him in his lies. He liked it because it was two needs he had, all wrapped up and delivered through one action. There were elements where another human could physically put his hands on him and make it hurt and then make it go away and it was okay. Because it was sex and Draco knew sex. That wasn't the problem.

The problem was that he didn't know _this type_ of sex. Potter was somehow tender. He'd lived through war half his life and come out the other side a soft man with sweet kisses and light touches. Draco wondered if that was what happened when you were a good person at heart. He'd imagined the scenario of hooking up with the boy once or twice, fantasised about really angry hate-sex in the school’s bathroom or steamy make out sessions in the dungeons. He never once thought sex could be like this.

He needed to make Potter understand, without telling him too much. He didn't even know if he'd get any words out, or if he'd just spill his heart out if he started talking.

“I _do_ like _this_ ,” he said, strained, while circling a finger in the space between them and Potter studied him.

“Okay.” But he didn't stand up straight again, didn't enter Draco’s personal space, didn't kiss him. So Draco, hesitantly, stepped forward, placed himself in between Potter’s legs and _took_ a kiss. It made Potter breath _okay_ once more. Like Draco taking what he wanted was the confirmation he needed. Draco made sure Potter knew he wanted more. Slid a hand between them, pressed and stoke hard over the denim of Potter’s jeans.

“Fuck, _Draco_ ,” Potter gasped and with that _name_ the whole thing was suddenly so… intimate. Draco screwed around, sure, but he was never intimate with anyone. That wasn't what it was all about. And it wasn't like he'd never had a partner say his name during sex, frankly, they said his name _a lot_. But Potter never did, never used his first name and now he had. Draco didn't really think, and Potter was already touching him, so he apparated them both up the stairs, into his bedroom. There wasn't time for walking. Potter’s face was one of utter surprise but Draco just twisted them around so that when he fell back on the bed, Potter landed on top of him, draping all his body. Potter still just overwhelmed him with sweet kisses, even when he tugged Draco’s pants down and yanked his teal shirt over his own head. Draco decided that he would just roll with this the best he could and removed Potter’s pants in the most elegant way he could (which wasn't really elegant at all). But Draco wanted more. He didn’t know how to ask for it. Potter didn’t seem to be in any hurry and Draco just wanted him to fuck him already. He wanted to say _fuck me_ or _I want you inside me_ or even _work me open already_ but he absolutely couldn’t.

“Please,” he said instead, breathing in Potter’s ear and it had absolutely zero effect. He didn’t know what else to do, so he just repeated the word.

“Please. Please, Potter, **please**.” He could see Potter’s face as the other boy kissed over his collar bone, he smiled, no menace in it, no slyness. He sucked a little at Draco’s neck and Draco tilted his head to give him better reach. They were down to their underwear, grinding slightly and Draco craved Potter to fucking _touch him_. He wondered if Potter got off of making Draco beg. It wouldn’t surprise him; the fame had gotten to his head. The other boy suddenly raised himself into a sitting position, sitting back on his heels while straddling Draco. When Potter’s hand traced the scars on Draco’s chest with light fingertips, Draco shuddered.

“Harry, _please_.” This seemed to do the trick and he had just said it without thinking. Potter’s eyes flung up to meet Draco’s. It struck him how colorful Potter was. He was radiant and he looked so alive. Draco felt alive. More so than he’d felt for years.

“Now could you please…?” Draco asked. Potter looked down at him like he wanted to give him what he asked but for some reason didn't know _at all_ how to. Draco wondered if Potter had ever done this before.

When Potter didn’t make an effort in doing like, anything, Draco had to roll his eyes a little. Before he could second guess this or think about what the hell he was doing, he yanked his own underpants down and quickly grabbed his lubricant in the nightstand. He poured some into his hand while Potter’s cheeks redden. He managed to hold another eye roll back. He reached down to slip a slick finger inside himself and watched Potter’s eyes widen and he visibly gulped. His gaze flickered between Draco’s slack face and his fingers opening himself up. Draco didn't usually have to do this himself, the angle was awkward and his arm touched his aching cock but he tried to ignore it all and just focus on getting himself ready. Open. Just enough for Potter to take over with his length when Draco would finally remove his fingers.

“Malfoy…”

“Don't. Think.” He managed to drag Potter down on top of him again and now Potter was eager. His kisses intense, deep and none of them could hold back guttural sounds or gasps. Draco was up to two fingers but it was harder to get anything done with Potter splayed on top of him. Thankfully, Potter patted his hand away and curiously tried himself. Draco made a high pitched sound and held his breath. _This_ was what he wanted and by reasons unknown, Potter did too. He started with just one finger but added another one as Draco whispered _more, more_ and fucked him deep and slow, exploratory. Mere minutes was all it took for Draco to get too close to come for his own liking. He wanted it to continue forever.

“I want you,” he heard himself whimper, finally truthfully answering Potter’s question from before. _Right now?_ This question Draco didn't need a second to consider.

“Yes, Potter, right now.” Potter awkwardly got his underwear out if the way, pulling Draco’s off the last bit too and Draco wanted to look at him, wanted to touch and feel and lick and suck but he told himself that maybe he could later, maybe next time. Didn't dare to think that this might never happen again.

“Do you want to be like… this?” Potter was over him and Draco still on his back underneath.

“I would not lay this way if I didn't want it this way,” he said matter-of-factly.

“I just figured-”

Draco pushed the hair off of Potter’s forehead, brushing over the scar, felt like he was deflating and demanded, “ _Harry._ ” And Potter finally pressed himself gently inside.

Harry fucked like he kissed. Sweetly. On the verge of teasing, slow and deep thrusts and it made Draco almost boneless. Quiet with the exceptions of moans he pulled from Draco and the ones from himself. He held an arm around Draco’s shoulders, Draco holding onto his midsection and meeting all of Harry’s thrusts. There was no pain. There was… no pain.

He made sure Draco came first, with Harry’s name on his tongue and Harry’s lips hovering above his own. Came himself moments later with a small cry and held on to Draco like he was his lifeline. He kept holding him. After they both had come undone, he laid down beside him, draping an arm around Draco waist and pulling him close. Planted soft kisses in his hair. Rested. Slept. Relaxed. It took a while, but Draco felt the remaining tension drain from his limbs and fell fast asleep in the arms of the only person that had made him feel safe and relaxed in the latest years.

It was sunrise when the dark haired boy left the Manor, small smile upon his face and ease in his steps. The blonde boy lay in his bed, thought it was not possible for him to have had the night he’d had. But _The Boy Who Lived_ had promised him more nights, more morning, more of himself and it was not what the blond boy had ever expected but everything he could wish for. Draco looked at his neck in the mirror and slowly dragged his fingers over Harry’s hickies. They were dark purple, red dots around the edges. They looked angry but they felt serene. Pure, somehow. Like Draco was chosen to bear them. He laughed a little at that, if his old friends would see him now. He was happy he didn't see them anymore. It meant he could be chosen. Chosen by The Chosen. Like he should walk the world and never hide again. He wouldn't. He would walk with pride and he would make sure he got new marks, just like these. Because the Dark Lord had once given him an ugly one and now he was able to receive new ones, better ones, _good ones_ , from the boy who'd killed him.

**Author's Note:**

> Podfic will be available.
> 
> Like my stuff? [Buy me a coffee!](https://www.buymeacoffee.com/mee4ever)


End file.
